


Wild Things

by sunryder



Series: Breath Control [1]
Category: His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman, James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-24
Updated: 2014-05-24
Packaged: 2018-01-26 07:55:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1680617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunryder/pseuds/sunryder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I know you’re here, Barton.” Bond’s voice broke across the snow. Clint didn’t have to look to know he had that bright, bastard of a smile he got when he knew something Clint didn’t. </p><p>(I apologize for the terrible title.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wild Things

**Author's Note:**

> AN: Totally stolen/based on skyfallat221b’s gif set series of AUs where Bond and Barton are brothers. the gif set in question is [HERE](http://skyfallat221b.tumblr.com/post/78783291324)

“‘Sure,’ Fury said. ‘We’d be happy to send Agent Barton after your missing Double-Oh. After all, you’re just asking us to shove a damn Avenger through a tear in the fabric of reality that turned up in an alleyway outside of MI-6 headquarters. That’s not weird, and nothing bad could possibly be on the other side of that.’” Clint grumbled out his worst Fury impression as he slogged his way up the snow-covered hillside. He did his best to keep his feet under him; more worried about the damage the wet might do to his sniper rifle than the pervasive cold that was seeping through his jacket.

 

MI-6 didn’t give a shit that Clint preferred his bow, or that the rest of the Avengers were furious that he was being sent to a different reality without backup, and Clint wasn’t really in a position to object. The British government’s help containing Thor’s shitshow with the Dark Elves meant SHIELD owed them a favor, and apparently sending Clint through a freaking hole in space was the way they wanted to cash in that chip.

 

Clint had been bundled off the Helicarrier and shipped to MI-6 headquarters where the Quartermaster had turned up his nose at Clint’s bow and outfitted him with a rifle and winter survival gear instead. What little readings they could get from the other side of the portal told them that it was below freezing on the over there, but they were unwilling to send through anything mechanical to do further scans.

 

So yeah, the Avengers were all losing their collective shit.

 

And since MI-6 wasn’t stupid, they knew Stark was on the way to London on Clint’s tail in the fastest jet his money and genius could manage. Which meant that Clint was bundled up and shoved out to the hole between worlds before his team had a chance to catch up. He knew that they’d be furious with him for letting himself be taken, but no matter how small the amount of time he and Bond had actually spent with one another, they were still brothers, and brothers didn’t let each other wander through foreign worlds without help.

 

Though, one look at the Quartermaster had told him that this wasn’t some secret plot to be rid of both him and Bond, and that had reduced Clint’s stress.

 

The Quartermaster was little more than a boy; he was a skinny, temperamental thing, who still managed to sass Clint in the few minutes they spent together. It wasn’t so much the sass—though, since the Avengers had that in spades it always managed to make Clint more comfortable. No, it was the way the Quartermaster had stared at Clint a beat too long before moving on to the debrief. Specifically, the boy paused when he got a good look at Clint’s eyes, the only real trait that Clint knew damn well he shared with Bond.

 

The Avengers, plus the Quartermaster’s crush, plus Bond’s twisted sense of luck, actually made Clint think this might be a simple mission.

 

Which, of course, got blasted all to hell the moment Clint stepped through the doorway and straight into a wolf.

 

Once upon a time Clint had been stranded with Coulson in a cabin for three days after an op, and for some reason Coulson had given him a lecture on what to do should Clint come across a wild animal. Apparently Coulson was under the impression that animals at the circus had had the wild caged out of them, so Clint hadn’t told Coulson that if he knew what to do when a tiger attacked, he was pretty sure he knew what to do with a wolf. That memory flashed through Clint’s mind in the half a beat before Clint planned on rearing up and making all the noise he could while he reached for the single, solitary knife that MI-6 had thought he’d need.

 

At the sight of Clint the wolf’s lips curled back in something that, if the wolf had been in a picture rather than right before him, Clint would’ve taken for a smile. (Which, looking back on things later, it probably was.)

 

Clint didn’t really have a chance to contemplate the concept of a smiling wolf, since from between those oddly positioned lips came the wolf’s voice. “We let him tell us because we like listening to Phil talk he’s excited. Normally he’s so reserved that we take pride in being the ones who make him ramble.”

 

Clint was not ashamed to say that at the first sign of talking wolf, he ran. Ran like hell.

 

Which is how he found himself scrambling up a snow bank, trying to find a better place for cover than the few scant clumps of trees that managed to survive in this climate. He’d managed to shrug the sniper rifle out of its case to deal with the talking wolf he knew was still loping along behind him. Clint slumped against a tree, catching his breath against the high altitude. He couldn’t stop long, because he knew the wolf was close; the same sense that told him he in was the sight of someone else’s gun now telling him that there was a sharp-toothed predator nearby.

 

“I know you’re here, Barton.” Bond’s voice broke across the snow. Clint didn’t have to look to know he had that bright, bastard of a smile he got when he knew something Clint didn’t.

 

Clint peeked around the tree and caught Bond looking for him in the wrong direction. Which would’ve been hilarious if it wasn’t for the snow leopard standing at Bond’s side. And Bond was looking not at all concerned that there was a freaking wild animal at his feet. Bond shouted again, “And I know you’re confused. I can explain.” And wasn’t that just the understatement of the year.

 

Clint took a quick shot at Bond’s feet. They both knew that if Clint had wanted to hit him between the eyes, he could’ve, but he’d been sent to bring Bond back alive, whether the man had gone mad or not. Yelling for Bond would mean giving the wolf more ammunition to find him, while shooting told Bond pretty much everything he needed to know about Clint’s current state of mind.

 

The hair on the back of Clint’s neck raised and he whipped around, bringing up the rifle up to face the wolf who’d snuck up on him. He caught Bond’s frantic shout to, “Clint! Don’t hurt the animal!” and Clint stayed his trigger finger. But whatever in the hell Bond was thinking, if that wolf started for him, Clint was taking him out.

 

The wolf didn’t come forward, just stopped to stare at Clint as snow began to fall. Part of him could hear Bond sprinting in the direction of Clint’s shot, putting aside stealth in favor of getting to Clint. The sound of those frantic steps was enough to make Clint pause. Ever so slowly Clint shifted his rifle out of his hold and down to the snow. With the same care he’d show a twitchy asset he wasn’t sure actually meant to kill him, Clint asked, “Why are you following me?”

 

The wolf peeled back its lips into the same smile as before, and chuckled. “Because I’m your daemon.”


End file.
